


Match Made in Heaven

by jiminsleftshoulder



Series: Ateez/Stray Kids Hogwarts AU [1]
Category: ATEEZ (Band), Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Beater!Changbin, Best Friends, Cuddling, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Friends to Lovers, Kisses, M/M, Pining, Quidditch, San is Woo's own personal cheerleader, San is whipped, Seeker!Wooyoung, Teensy Bit of Angst, Woo is oblivious, but mostly cute fluff, gryffindor quidditch team - Freeform, lots of pining, most of the characters are just mentioned oops, they'll get parts later its ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 07:55:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29773035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jiminsleftshoulder/pseuds/jiminsleftshoulder
Summary: Changbin looks at Wooyoung like he’s nearly certain he’s a lost cause, and then sighs. “You’re there too, you see him in the stands. You see the posters he makes, the cheers he does. Remember when you were out last season, the ankle injury? You think San showed up to the Quidditch match? Woo, San doesn’t give a fuck about Quidditch, he only cares about you.”ORSan makes a fool out of himself in every way to show his support for the Gryffindor Quidditch team, or, more accurately, Gryffindor's seeker, Wooyoung. Wooyoung is an oblivious fool.
Relationships: Choi San/Jung Wooyoung
Series: Ateez/Stray Kids Hogwarts AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2188278
Comments: 5
Kudos: 89





	Match Made in Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! I'm back, briefly, for this piece of fluffy crack. This is a part of my new Ateez/Stray Kids Hogwarts AU, a collection of oneshots in the same Hogwarts universe with various members of both groups. Stay tuned for some fun new little fics like this one, I'm working on a jongsang one right now! 
> 
> This isn't my best work, but it's the first thing I've finished in awhile, so I wanted to go ahead and share! I'm working on a million other things, so hopefully this motivates me to push some more fic out soon! Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoy! :)
> 
> (the title, yes, I hate myself)

“Wooyoungie! Are you ready for the match today?”

Wooyoung spins around in his seat, and then proceeds to spit out all of his pumpkin juice. 

In all honesty, he shouldn’t be so surprised. He knows his best friend too well -- he remembers the time he tried to transfigure Jisung’s cat into a miniature lion their fifth year, and then regrets the pumpkin juice a little. 

But he can’t help but snort at San’s appearance, even as he pouts at him for messing up his new sign. He’s somehow managed to make his own Gryffindor robes even more Gryffindor, with bright red and gold stripes that make him look more like a clown than anything, and his normally black hair is dyed a bright purple that horribly clashes with his uniform but matches Wooyoung’s perfectly. He’s wearing a bright smile that’s half covered by his three Gryffindor scarves (it _is_ a bit cold out this morning, but _three_ is a bit overkill), but Wooyoung can still see his dimples peeking through nonetheless. 

“Not as ready as you, apparently.” But Wooyoung grins back, scooching over in his seat to leave San room to sit down, which the boy uses instead to spread his freshly stained poster out on, using his wand to clear the pumpkin juice. Wooyoung distinctly remembers trying to wait up for his friend the night before, and falling asleep facing his empty bed. He checks for dark circles under the boy’s eyes, but San’s as lively as ever, any signs of sleep deprivation hidden behind his cheerful attitude over the upcoming match.

It _is_ a pretty poster -- San’s posters are always pretty, but Wooyoung takes the time to appreciate _this_ one, because San’s not looking and he wants to, and he really shouldn’t have to explain himself further. 

It’s a beautiful maroon, it looks more like a tapestry than anything, and it’s painted over with sparkling gold letters that read _Go Gryffindor! Go Wooyoungie!_

He flushes a little at the _Wooyoungie_ part, because while San is the Gryffindor Quidditch team’s own personal cheerleader, it’s only _his_ name on the paper. Wooyoung would never admit it, but the sentiment does give him the slightest bit of pride, especially when he can see (or hear, San is loud as fuck) it from the stands in the middle of a match. 

Wooyoung smiles fondly at his friend, who looks up a moment later, his now purple bangs falling over his eyes. San smiles a bit in return, huffing awkwardly when Wooyoung can’t bring himself to look away, his eyes sparkling in question. 

But Wooyoung doesn’t want to answer (some Gryffindor he is, when a simple “thank you” is too daunting), so he shoves a plate of food in front of San, nudging his shoulder when he slips into his seat. 

“You ready to crush some Ravenclaws?” San asks him, already stuffing half his serving of eggs in his mouth. 

Wooyoung hums, ignoring the flipping sensation in his stomach. As much as he loves the sport, and nothing can beat the racing of his heart on the pitch, he has yet to experience a match he’s not gotten even slightly worried over. 

“Hey,” San bumps his shoulder back, suddenly serious. “You always do great out there, you’re going to ace this.” Wooyoung glances at him, and his eyes light up, dimples making another guest appearance. “You’re going to be like a professional - you’ll zoom around on your broomstick and zip through the other players and catch that snitch!” He pinches Wooyoung’s thigh playfully, and the younger shoves him. 

“Don’t worry, Sannie,” he says, feeling lighter already, “You didn’t make a fool out of yourself for nothing, I’ll be sure to win this thing for you.” 

They’re still grinning when Changbin shuffles into his seat across from them, grumbling, his eyes closed like he’s still half-asleep. 

“Stop flirting, it’s too early for this,” Changbin groans. Wooyoung kicks his foot under the table, glaring, but San just greets their fellow Gryffindor with a smile despite his grumpy attitude. They’re all used to this anyway. 

“Hi, Changbinnie,” San says, and Changbin groans again at his sweet tone. “Excited for the match?”

“I’d be much more excited if it was two hours later,” he complains, opening his eyes only to properly maneuver his food into his mouth. When he looks across the table, he doesn’t even comment about San’s appearance, even though Wooyoung is sure every other pair of eyes in the Great Hall are on them for that reason. 

“You have the perfect personality for a bludger,” San comments, watching the other boy aggressively shovel oatmeal in his mouth. 

Wooyoung snorts, and even Changbin can’t hold back a chuckle. “Changbin is a _beater,_ ” he corrects, poking at San’s dimple (taking advantage of any opportunity). “He _hits_ bludgers.”

San pouts, and Wooyoung coos. “I was close enough,” he complains. 

Changbin shakes his head. “Sure. Can you even name a single Quidditch position?”

San grins. “Seeker,” he says, all proud. 

Changbin raises an eyebrow at Wooyoung, who can’t hold back his smile. “Anything else?”

San’s smile fades, and his mouth opens for a second, and then closes again. When he opens it a second time, Changbin shoves a piece of bacon in it, and he crunches down, and they all burst out laughing like the idiots they are. 

They can only goof off for so long, sadly, before the captain is calling them over and they have to leave San behind to head to the pitch, the oldest wishing them luck again on their way out, patting Wooyoung’s head encouragingly and waving behind his three scarves and purple hair until they’re safely out of the hall. 

“That boy is whipped,” Changbin whistles when the doors close behind them. 

“Whipped?” Wooyoung scoffs, ignoring the heat rising up his neck. “Sannie’s just supportive. He likes the team, he likes to watch us play.”

“Correction: he likes to watch _you_ play.” 

Wooyoung doesn’t have an answer for that, aware that his friend has officially lost his mind, so he shoves him instead, and the older boy stumbles a bit before shoving Wooyoung back. 

They _do_ win the match, and San _hasn’t_ made a fool out of himself for nothing, but Wooyoung feels like a fool when he hears Changbin’s words in his head every time San shouts his name from the crowd. It makes his heart race in a way that’s different from the adrenaline, the excitement he gets when the snitch is just out of his grasp. 

It doesn’t distract him -- in fact, he feels himself performing better, his energy up and determination skyrocketing with each cheer -- but it does make the victory less fulfilling, especially after San rushes to congratulate him after, and his heart nearly explodes in his chest at the boy’s smile, and he realizes that if _anyone’s_ whipped, it’s definitely not San.

“You like him a lot,” Changbin says later, when the celebrations are over and they’re back in the dorms. 

Wooyoung glares. “No shit, sherlock. Thanks for the help.”

The older crosses his arms, raising his eyebrows at Wooyoung until he sighs and lets him speak. “You’ve been dancing around each other since you were in second year, and Mingi forced you guys to kiss during that one muggle game with the dares.” Wooyoung’s face flushes at the memory, and he reminds himself to smack Mingi later, when he can find him. “You need to tell him, you guys can’t keep avoiding this.”

“I just...” Wooyoung trails off, unsure of what he was hoping to say. He doesn’t know how he can explain himself to Changbin, when he’s not even sure he can explain himself to himself. His face pinches together, and he thinks about his words very carefully. “I just don’t think he cares about me, as much as I do him,” he finishes, wincing at how his words seem forced, choked, and how he doesn’t understand them much himself.

Changbin glares at him, though Wooyoung can only see his annoyed gaze over the top of San’s messy hair, perched on his chest. “I just wish I had a camera, so I could take a picture of you right now, for future reference, to illustrate just how much of a dumb bitch you’re being.” He gestures to Wooyoung’s position, sprawled out on his bed, the boy in question laying directly on top of him, fast asleep.

“Just go ask Jongho then,” he says, pouting at his friend. “You’re being annoying and mean. We don’t want you here.”

“Speaking for him now, are you?” Changbin challenges, and Wooyoung hates — truly truly despises — how his ears flush with the slightest bit of heat. The older boy rolls his eyes. “Jongho will be of no use, that memory card is full of Yeosang, there’s no room for another gay bitch.”

“Hey,” Wooyoung warns, because Yeosang is _his_ gay bitch, and no one else is allowed to call him that. 

“That boy cares about you so much,” Changbin says, ignoring Wooyoung’s attempts at changing the conversation. “You ask him anything about Quidditch, anything at all, and he’s all blank stares, completely uninterested and utterly clueless. But he knows that Wooyoungie is his little seeker, and he’s following every move you’re making up there in the sky.” Changbin looks at Wooyoung like he’s nearly certain he’s a lost cause, and then sighs. “You’re there too, you see him in the stands. You see the posters he makes, the cheers he does. Remember when you were out last season, the ankle injury? You think San showed up to the Quidditch match? Woo, San doesn’t give a fuck about Quidditch, he only cares about you.”

Wooyoung looks down at the boy laying on him, his head laying sideways across his chest, cheek squished and nose grazing the fabric of Wooyoung’s shirt. He understands this is a weird time to be having this conversation, with San right here, but he also knows the boy can sleep through anything and so he lets himself sigh and reach up to card a hand through his hair. San sighs in his sleep, a small, pitiful sort of noise, and curls into Wooyoung even more, his hand fisting at the hem of his shirt. 

He can’t breathe as he looks at him, long eyelashes casting a shadow on his sharp cheekbones, looking so incredibly peaceful just above Wooyoung’s heart. 

“We’re—“ Wooyoung stops when the word comes out choked, wet, and he blinks and a tear slips out of the corner of his eye. He looks at his friend helplessly. When he speaks again, his voice is a lot smaller than he was hoping for. “He only thinks of me as a friend.”

There’s that look again, except Changbin looks certain this time as he gazes at Wooyoung like he’s beyond hope. “You keep thinking that,” he says sadly, “See what good it does you.”

Wooyoung tries, he tries so hard, but when Changbin leaves him alone with San in his arms, a sob rakes through his body, and as the tears come streaming down his face, he shoves his arm over his mouth, muffling his cries and thanking the heavens San is the deepest sleeper he knows.

-

Wooyoung is struggling. 

He has never once found himself on a broom, in the middle of the Quidditch pitch (in an official match, no less), struggling, but hey, everyday’s a new adventure, right?

He groans out loud in frustration, shaking his head. He’s already been yelled at by his teammates three times, and was nearly taken out by a bludger a few minutes in. As Changbin shoots him a concerned look from across the pitch, his own beater’s bat forgotten in his hand, Wooyoung knows he’s screwed, and he knows why, and he’s just generally pissed off and struggling.

He’s been off ever since their conversation that night, after he came to terms with his feelings and why they didn’t, couldn’t matter and after he cried himself to sleep, clutching the boy that he loved so much more deeply than he could’ve ever imagined.

He loves San. Wooyoung is in love with San. He loves San and Changbin knows and so does everyone else because it’s so painfully obvious that Wooyoung should’ve realized it so much sooner, but he didn’t and San hasn’t even though everyone around them has been holding onto it forever like it’s their secret and not his. 

But after he cried a bit and then cried some more, and then slept it off and then cried again when San left the next morning, Wooyoung accepted it. He loves San. So fucking what. If it’s not going to do him any good, and he still firmly believes this, then why is he so caught up in it, still, now, when he’s facing the final Quidditch match of the year and everything is riding on him? When his focus is the most essential, but it’s torn between his aching heart and the game before him?

He hates San for making him feel this way, and he hates Changbin for making him realize he felt this way, but he mostly hates himself for letting it get to him when nothing like this has ever distracted him from the one thing he thought he loved most in the world.

He dodges a bludger, another super close call, and the captain yells at him again. _Focus Wooyoung,_ he tells himself, but as he scans the field he doesn’t even catch a trace of the golden snitch, still stuck hovering in his position from the beginning of the match like the dumbass he is.

But then he hears his name, screaming from the crowd, and he spins around in his broomstick to face the Gryffindor stands, where a familiar face has made an appearance. 

San is decked out in the most ridiculous amount of gold and maroon, his cheeks painted with gold, his hair dyed a bright red, holding a sign the size of Mingi above his head, with nothing but Wooyoung’s name and a golden lion printed on it, the lion charmed to roar out the text every few seconds. 

Wooyoung’s heart bursts at the sight, because of course Changbin is right, and as his best friend grins at him from the stands, he feels his body filling with all of the energy and focus he had been missing before. He nearly cries as he realizes the source of it all along, the constant presence at every game, the spot in the stands that’s never empty, the voice in Wooyoung’s ear that’s never silent. 

He spins back around, facing the game with a whole new perspective. 

(He catches the snitch two minutes later, following the glint of gold with newfound speed and agility, ending the game that’s not even close, Gryffindor winning by a good 110 points).

“Wooyoung!” Someone screams, and Wooyoung ditches his broomstick and his teammates to follow the voice, taking him straight into the arms of his best friend, who clutches him back tightly. 

“San,” he sighs into his shoulder, unsure whether he’s out of breath still from the match or the boy in front of him. 

“Wooyoung, you were so amazing, you’re so amazing, you deserved that win!”

He pulls back for a second to look at San, who’s smiling so wide Wooyoung’s own heart is hurting. “I’ve never seen you like that before, you were so incredible, there was nothing like the way--”

But then Wooyoung kisses him, effectively silencing his praise. He’s scared for just a single moment before San relaxes in his hold, wrapping his arms around Wooyoung’s waist and pulling him closer, moving his lips against his slowly, but without any hesitation as he returns the kiss. 

Wooyoung pulls away, mostly to catch his breath, and when he does, San chases his lips, his eyes still closed, and Wooyoung giggles. When San’s eyelids flutter open, and they’re so close that his lashes brush against Wooyoung’s skin, Wooyoung feels his breath effectively stolen away yet again, and he wonders why he pulled away in the first place. 

His hands are now cupping San’s cheeks, and he pokes his thumbs into his dimples, grinning at how San’s smile only grows. His eyes flick back up to San’s, a question on his tongue he’s been meaning to ask for _ages._

“Do you like Quidditch?”

San has the widest grin on his face, his bright eyes peering down at Wooyoung with nothing but fondness in them when he answers, “I hate it.”

Wooyoung cackles, throwing his head back and reaching a hand up to cover his obnoxious laughter. “You hate it,” he repeats, a bit disbelieving but not accusing, a little breathless in his amusement over the ridiculousness of everything.

When he looks back at San, the older hasn’t looked away, still staring at Wooyoung fondly with a big stupid grin on his face, and as much as Wooyoung wants to be smooth and tease San about why he comes to the games if he hates it so much, the look in his eyes steals Wooyoung’s breath away. “I hate Quidditch,” San repeats, eyes sparkling, “But I love you.”

It’s not fair how Wooyoung’s heart seems to stop at his best friend’s words, when he should’ve known they were true from the start. He’s not sure what to do, so he hugs him tightly, burying his nose in the older boy’s neck, letting San hold him in his arms where he always feels safest. He knows he doesn’t need to, because he knows the other boy knows already, but he whispers a quiet “I love you too,” into his skin.

It comes like a sigh, a breath of relief, like he’s been holding it inside for so long (cause he has) and he’s just now letting it free. He relaxes into San even more, who presses a soft reassuring kiss to his temple, already forgetting about his win on the pitch, more focused on the boy he’s won right now.

-

“Felix, you owe me 5 galleons.”

“Goddamnit!”


End file.
